


Immortality

by hyacinthocanis



Series: One Word Prompts [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: End of the World, F/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Roof Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9717707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyacinthocanis/pseuds/hyacinthocanis
Summary: What it says on the tin. Vaguely set before Millennium. Unbeta'ed and written while high on pain medicine. It was supposed to be a romantic Valentine's Day thing, but instead this happened.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯Enjoy! ♥





	

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin. Vaguely set before Millennium. Unbeta'ed and written while high on pain medicine. It was supposed to be a romantic Valentine's Day thing, but instead this happened. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Enjoy! ♥

She wants to shout something like, “ _this is ridiculous”_ or “ _you’re insane_ ,” but the wind is howling, and all that manages to slither above it is a half-choked _Mulder_. She wants to care enough to stop, but he continues running, and so does she, and now they’re on top of the roof.

“Come on, Scully! Don’t you wanna witness the end of the world from a front row seat?”

She looks at him, and then at the sky. Something is raw and bleeding like an open wound, but it’s not the sky, and it’s not him. He’s more alive than ever, laughing at the clouds like a madman when thunder and lightning break them apart, and rains starts pouring down.

“This is not the end of the world, Mulder,” she says, stepping closer to the edge of the roof, and it’s all slippery now. The ground is far away, and there’s nothing that could break her fall if she slips away from the roof, from the sky, from Mulder. But he’s still holding her hand, even as she takes her shoes off and watches them fall off the building, even as she shudders at the lighting that sets the world on fire.

They’re sitting down now. She doesn’t know how it happened, but she’s straddling his lap, and his head is pressed against her chest. Her hands are small compared to his, but they’re just as eager to protect, to save, to heal, to soothe. On his back, through his hair, gripping his arms, digging her nails into his shoulders. “It’s not the end of the world,” she whispers again and again, with her lips pressing against his ears, his forehead, kissing along the lines of his jaw.

She should be scared. They both should be scared, and they are, but not because chaos is tearing the world around them apart. She thinks of all the times they nearly died, shots and wounds and poison, and she laughs. She laughs as his arms are wrapped around her torso, and she’s rocking her hips back and forth. He’s mumbling something, his face still buried against her chest. A prayer perhaps, although Mulder doesn’t pray. If this truly is the end of the world, she knows God will forgive her for having spent the last minutes of her life on Earth like this. He’ll forgive her because He knows there is no better way for her to die other than this – in Mulder’s arms, with Mulder’s length deep inside her as the world around them is breaking apart.

She thinks about people, if there are any left, if there’s ever been any, if the world has ever been more than this – the weight of her body on top of his, his hair between her fingers, his hands on her hips, the taste and smell and feel of him. A surge of warmth inside her makes her back straighten, baring her throat against the dark clouds billowing close above them. Rain is falling on her face, flooding her nostrils and her open mouth, and she feel like she might just suffocate. She takes his head in her hands, and looks at him. _Mulder_. Oh, Mulder. Her Mulder, holding her tighter than ever, against the wind, against the storm, unraveling beneath her, beautiful and wild. He’s shaking and crying, and perhaps she’s crying too. She kisses his tears away, drop of salt and warmth against the rain. And kissing him, she feels liquid, shapeless and languid.

It’s closer now, they both know. And they know they could never get enough of each other, not in this life, not in a thousand lives.

“It’s beautiful, Scully,” he whispers against lips that for so long he dared not kiss. “You’re beautiful.”

“It’s not over, Mulder.”

So what if the world is dismantled piece by piece? What if everything will be reduced to a disorganized tangle of matter? If they survived so long without each other, they can survive this when they’re together.

“It’s not over yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ♥


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